


The Boy From Croxteth

by orphan_account



Series: The o boto Series [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. First in the O boto series. Cristiano befriends an English boy with eyes as blue as the sky. The amazing runandtelldat (lj) also betaed this.</p><p>EDIT: Another repost. Formatting fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy From Croxteth

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: mentions of alcohol, ambiguous/ brief mention of drugs, character death, though not main. I do not own either of these gentlemen, they are with Real Madrid and Manchester United, respectively, and belong to themselves.

Cristiano has always been warned about getting too close to humans.

His mother looks at him with swollen, teary, red eyes when the sun starts to go down, as if expecting Cristiano to disappear into the sunset.

The eldest, his sister, Elma, quietly informs him it's how their father met his end.

His brother Hugo is the second oldest. He has a different philosophy when it comes to humans.

Cristiano has no idea if that is a good thing or a bad thing because Hugo’s definitely not as serious (or intelligent) as Elma.

Late at night (or very early in the morning), their home, the Amazon River, sometimes teems with an unnatural sweetness that almost seems to bleed into the water.

It's heavy and thick and makes Cristiano's eyes water whenever he feels it around him.

It truly is a stark contrast compared to the tranquil, murky earthiness of the Amazon.

After the curiously fruity (and often bittersweet) aroma has settled for while, Hugo sometimes comes home with a satisfied grin and hazy eyes.

He speaks of the best parties with music and dancing and the prettiest girls.

Lately, however, he returns quietly, his expression often lonely and disillusioned.

Cristiano has practice overlooking swiftly changing moods—after all, he has two sisters—but his big brother's behavior is uncontrollably erratic and is continuously treading the thin line between extreme joy and extreme sorrow.

Cristiano only wishes he knew how to help him.

Tonight is one of those nights where Hugo is euphoric and _blissed out of his mind_. He's incoherent, but Cristiano can make out the usual words such as 'dancing,' 'pretty girls,' and 'weird Brazilian drug dealer.'

Cristiano just gives him a blank look as Hugo continues to babble and brag.

And as usual, because Cristiano is the youngest, Hugo smugly swims away when he notices it.

"Stepping out of this river into the outside world...that's where everything is," Hugo calls out before retiring for the night. "But, a little kid like you wouldn't know anything about life."

His older brother’s words used to annoy him, but Cristiano rarely gets mad at him anymore.

He knows Hugo only goes to parties to drink, get high, and be with the human girls because he’s miserable and misses their dad.

Faintly, Cristiano recalls their dad coming home just as Hugo does now—his eyes dazed with an empty gaze after a night of drinking.

Although it isn’t a fond memory, Cristiano cherishes it because he doesn’t remember much before his father disappeared.

He envies Hugo for that reason.

His brother may be an idiot at times, but at least Hugo remembers enough about their dad to actually miss him.

Cristiano can't even remember his father's face.

Out of all his siblings, Cristiano is the closest to Cátia.

Probably because she's also the closest to him in age; though, she has a good eight years on him.

Although Cátia is older than he is, she doesn’t treat him like a baby as the others do.

Cristiano really appreciates that.

"We are monsters to them," Cátia tells him. "As soon as they find out what we are, they'll kill us."

"How can you be so sure? Not all humans are afraid of us."

Cristiano thinks of the neighborhood children who ask him to play _futebol_ with them; the pretty, young shopkeeper who always saves him a piece of candy at the end of the day; and the kindly old fisherman who smokes his pipe and pats Cristiano on the head, eyes twinkling, as he steps off his little boat to bring his daily load to his wife.

Cátia only gives him a look that borders on faint disbelief and pity.

He hates it when she does that.

"That is because they don't know what we are, Cristiano." Her echoes* are much softer, more soothing.

“As our true forms, as _botos*_ , we are friendly and mysterious. It is the same when we are human. They accept you because they suspect nothing, but don’t be fooled, little brother.

The very fact that we can walk the land in their forms and live amongst them would terrify them.

Humans are destructive creatures; they fear what they cannot explain.

If given the chance, they would kill us upon sight.

This is why you can never be discovered."

Cátia peers into his eyes expectantly until he nods.

Satisfied, she leaves to go hunt for fish, vanishing instantly as their kind is accustomed to doing.

Even after her grave warning, Cristiano knows she's really leaving to go watch that nice, young Portuguese man, José*.

However, he knows she means well, and for that, he doesn't have the heart to hold it against her.

\----------

When the time approaches, and the sun is close to setting, he rises out of the water as a human boy.

Cristiano really doesn't understand why it is so wrong to interact with humans.

Every day, he goes to the village where the people are nice to him and the children play with him until he has to leave for the river.

While playing futebol, they cheer noisily whenever he easily glides through his tricks and scores a goal.

Whenever they chose teams, there is always a fight about whose team he’s going to play with.

And although he know it’s vain, he can’t help but to preen when they all stare at him in unconcealed wonder as he plays.

For this reason, Cristiano takes special care of the football pitch during the wet season that tends to leave the nearby grasslands and forests underwater.

In the Amazon, the wet season may last for half the year, but it doesn't make it any less capricious.

The downpour rarely lasts for a less than a half hour before the clouds dissipate to reveal the red-hot sun.

Truthfully, he would rather stay on the surface world, just a little bit longer, with the humans.

The people of the village all seem so nice and open—they're nothing like the cruel and hateful creatures Cátia describes them to be.

Ever since his father disappeared, his family never stays together.

And, in an area as vast as the Amazon, it’s easy for a young boy to become lonely, which is why he is grateful for even the smallest amount of human companionship.

Cristiano loves his family—really, he does—but they do not “get him” like the humans do.

When they aren’t criticizing his flights of fancy, they’re usually teasing him for being too young.

 “Oh Cristiano,” Cátia would say, “You’re too much of a dreamer; your head is always in the clouds.”

Then there is Hugo who huffs loudly when Cristiano doesn’t react expectedly to any of his particularly bawdy stories. “God, Cristiano, you’re such a baby!”

As if he could control his age.

The humans, however, want nothing from him.

They have no grand expectations, and no high stakes rules that were centered on life and death.  

\----------

It is only a little dark out, and despite the fact that the village kids start to _plead_ with Cristiano to stay with them longer; Cristiano can only apologetically shake his head.

He is in a rather contemplative mood tonight and wants time to reflect.

He blames it on the poignant sight of the faded, late evening sky riddled with flickering stars.

As Cristiano heads toward his favorite tree near the river—his usual stomping grounds—he is surprised to find someone else already sitting there.

A boy is sitting near _his_ tree looking as out of place as a stern Englishman could look in Brazil because in Cristiano's opinion, the boy certainly possesses the pale skin and stern demeanor of the English.

However, the pale-faced stranger doesn't look so stern when his grim expression shifts to one of suppressed despair.

The stranger’s vividly blue eyes scrunch together, and his mouth forms a thin line.

The tangible anguish of the ginger-haired, freckled youth stirs something within Cristiano.

Although he knows it’ll probably lead to trouble, he wants to help the poor kid.

"What is your name, friend?" The shorter boy flinches away as soon as Cristiano speaks to him.

Cristiano feels the beginnings of a pout starting to grace his lips, but still tries not to feel _too_ offended.

He _is_ trying to help, after all.

The freckled foreigner then squints at him wordlessly; maybe even a little suspiciously, apparently sizing Cristiano up before deciding to respond.

"It's Wayne," he says in a _very_ (correctly assumed) thick English accent.

"...Wayne Mark Rooney if me mum's feeling wound up." Blue eyes stare at him expectantly, and then, "You speak English? What's your name?"

Cristiano notices Wayne's voice is somewhat soft, almost hard to hear.

Still, he is thankful he can at least understand the other boy.

Cristiano’s mind immediately flashes back to another English boy—a tourist named Stevie*, who Cristiano could _never_ hope to remotely understand.

By swimming alongside tourist boats, Cristiano’s young and eager mind quickly soaked in many different languages.

English being one of the most difficult to learn.

He was still trying to figure out what "wanker" meant.

Maybe he'd ask Wayne later.

"Yes...I speak English. My name is Cristiano," he pauses, unused to introducing himself in English, but continues, trying to follow Wayne's example.

"Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro if my mom is upset."

"Quite a mouthful, mate." Wayne boyishly chuckles at him.

He gives Wayne a reassuring smile, and Wayne now appears to trust Cristiano enough to return the gesture.

Satisfied, the slightly taller boy begins where he left off, about to question his new companion.

However, Wayne suddenly interrupts him before he can even start.

"Just how old are you, anyway, Ronnie?" Cristiano starts at the sudden nickname and has to spare a moment to think about how old his human appearance physically looks.

"...Eleven." He then states confidently after a long pause.

Luckily, Wayne mistakes Cristiano’s uncertainty about his age as an uncertainty of the English language.

"You're just a year older than me," mystified, Wayne continues.

I mean...you're sorta tall, but I coulda sworn I was a bit older than you. You've got a youthful look about you."

"Ummm...Thank you?" Cristiano is unsure whether or not to take that as a compliment.

Still, he presses on.

"Why do you look sad? Where are your parents?"

Wayne sighs before slumping down even further on the ground.

He tells Cristiano he comes from a place in England called Croxteth ("That's in Liverpool, mind you, my football club is Everton all the way!"), and attends De La Salle School in Merseyside ("That's an English county, mate.") with his two younger brothers.

The thing is, his family isn't very rich, but they were lucky enough to have an opportunity to visit Brazil.

Wayne thinks his parents won something…then something was arranged.

He isn't very sure because he and his brothers were frankly more than happy to go on a trip, so they didn’t ask too many questions.

He goes on to describe how they came and where they're staying.

Wayne concludes his story by informing Cristiano while walking with his parents; he became distracted by a football match on one of 'the tellies' in a store window.

Here he had the grace to appear slightly embarrassed, his pale ears flushing crimson.

Cristiano listens intently to the whole story, and by Wayne's descriptions, can decipher where the Rooney family is staying.

Wayne's strides are shorter than Cristiano's, and for this reason, he trails behind Cristiano as they advance toward the village.

Once there, Cristiano is glad to see Wayne tearfully ambushed by his mother, affably scolded by his father, and gleefully jumped on by his brothers.

It is a happy reunion, and it makes Cristiano slightly uncomfortable to witness such an intimate moment.

With one last glance at his newfound friend, Cristiano silently disappears into the night before he can be missed.

\----------

The day passes by again, the picturesque sunset the herald of the creeping dusk.

Cristiano is his human self and trudges comfortably along the river bank.

Vaguely, he wonders how Wayne is doing.

He's about to walk towards his tree again, when he sees Wayne waiting for him.

Wayne is waving his hands back and forth, hollering at Cristiano to hurry up.

They dash excitedly to the village futebol field, where Cristiano has to be Wayne's translator.

The children can't stop asking Wayne about famous English footballers.

After the slight novelty of having a _real English boy_ talk football with them wears off, they all begin a new game.

At the end of the day, Cristiano and Wayne pretty much dominate, and the village children now have _two_ idols to fawn over.

Cristiano is more than happy to share the spotlight.

He walks Wayne back to village.

Thick mud is plastered to the soles of their feet, and their clothing is wrinkled and dirtied from the earlier game.

As they walk in companionable silence along the quiet river bank, Cristiano can hear the delicious fish swimming lazily along in the current.

Personally, he prefers the catfish; the turtles are too cute to eat.

"Ronnie..?" a low voice brings him back to reality. "We're here."

And so they are: at the tree near the river bank.

Cristiano blinks.

Wayne continues, rambling about their unbelievably fun time.

He practically begs Cristiano to come back with him to England and play football with the Everton youth team.

"You're marvelous, mate. You...you can't just stay here! I could tell the coach about you, you can show him your tricks. You could run circles around the other lads!" he babbles at the prospects.

"C'mon, Cristiano! Ask your parents." His face lights up with a merry grin.

Cristiano thinks of his mother. He thinks of his mother who loves him and who would probably die of a broken heart at losing another loved one.

The endless void in her heart is barely filled by her older, somber children.

He then thinks of his father who remains nothing more, nothing less, but a phantom figure in his clouded memories.

The clearest memory of his father is earnest, sad eyes dissolving into the dark river.

Cristiano can't leave.

"...I don't think they'll let me." he finally answers.

Cristiano smiles at Wayne. It doesn't quite reach his eyes.

\----------

"You're being an idiot. What have I told you?" Cátia straight-out hisses at him after he tells her and Elma all about Wayne.

Hugo is nowhere to be seen, which is normal enough this time of day.

Their mother is most likely hunting out late again to get them food.

"But he's different from everyone you talk about! _Wayne-_ " Cátia giggles almost cruelly, all teeth and bitter malice.

It is so unlike the Cátia he knows, and Cristiano wonders if it has anything to do with that young Portuguese man*.

_"He'll never accept you. After you finally get over your fears and bear your heart to him, he'll leave you without a second glance. He'll look at you with disgusted eyes-"_

Cristiano knows she's not talking about Wayne any more.

" _Cátia_ ," Elma scolds. "Stop it. Leave him alone."

His big sisters usually don't argue, but Elma's regularly mild demeanor is rigidly stern, and Cátia is glaring hatefully at her.

"Oh come on! You can't be saying you approve of him running around with some little English boy! What if he even becomes like Hugo in the future?"

Cátia is hysterical.

Elma pauses, but as soon as she glances at the helpless expression on Cristiano’s face, her resolve apparently grows.

"You're right, I can't say I really do," she looks directly at Cátia. "But there are rare times when young boys can be more accepting than grown men. Regardless, Cristiano is right, as well. Not all _humans_ are the same, just like how not all of _us_ are the same."

Cátia turns away. Elma merely curls around her body in a comforting gesture, like how they used to do when they were younger.

Through the murky water of the river, Cristiano sees Elma kindly dismissing him with a gentle flip of her tail.

He gratefully takes the opportunity to swim away because it is time for him to go on land.

Cristiano understands that Cátia is his big sister who loves him and only wants to protect him.

He loves her, too. But she's wrong.

Wayne is Cristiano's _best friend_.

Wayne is really kind-hearted and charmingly English and truly _sincere_.

He wouldn't care- _he wouldn't_ -if he knew what Cristiano really was.

\----------

It becomes dark rather quickly.

The moon is full and brighter than any star in the black sky.

It's also raining.

He should have taken it as an omen, but he is distracted by the rain.

Cristiano eagerly anticipates changing form; he likes the feel of the cool rainwater on his human skin.

He can see the little lights coming from the village in the near distance.

The river must have carried him farther away from the place he regularly changes form.

He is actually at his favorite tree, the tree where he first met Wayne.

It's completely silent and Cristiano can feel his slick, slippery body changing in the moonlight's soft glow.

He startles at the audible crunch of a leaf.

A pair of sneakers appears from behind the tree.

Panic sets in; someone saw him...

It's Wayne.

For a moment he relaxes, but immediately tenses up again as Cátia’s earlier words comes back to haunt him.

The rain is relentless; still, Wayne stares transfixed at Cristiano, and Cristiano can only look back at him, eyes wide and pleading.

For a moment, it seems as if Wayne is too shocked to do little more than ogle Cristiano, but the he utters the words Cristiano dreaded to hear.

" _What are you_?"

Cristiano feels sick, but he can't bring himself to run away.

Of course Wayne would hate him. Cátia is right; she's always been right.

Why hasn't he ever seen it before?

Why did he never listen?

He is a complete freak to Wayne.

No, he’s worse than a freak; he’s a horrible _monster_.

Numbly, he stumbles back, an unbearably piercing heaviness rising in his chest.

The waters of the Amazon swirl around his all too _human_ ankles.

Wayne's eyes are wide with what he imagines to be hatred and loathing.

Cristiano shuts his eyes; he doesn't want to see Wayne peering accusingly at him.

There's a grip like a vice on his arm.

It feels like it's burning his skin in the damp coolness of the rain.

"You-"

"Let go of me." Cristiano can't shake Wayne off; the smaller boy is strong and determined.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wayne is in his face, rivulets of rainwater running down both of their faces.

"Just leave me-" Desperate, Cristiano musters the strength the push Wayne off of him.

Wayne's expression is disbelieving as his feet slip beneath the wet ground, into the depths of the raging, flooded river.

\----------

His eyes are impossibly blue like the clear morning sky, and Cristiano almost _killed_ him.

Cristiano chokes up as he mindlessly drags Wayne away from the river.

His chest hurts with every heavy, labored breath he takes.

Wayne's eyes are opened, but the brilliant pools of blue are unclear.

Wayne is watching Cristiano closely through glazed eyes, watching each shudder that rakes through the older boy's body; every strangled gasp that escapes Cristiano's throat; the tears that run down his flushed cheeks

Any other time, Cristiano would be embarrassed if seen in such a state, but at that moment he can’t seem to muster the strength to care.

Through the wetness of the rain and his tears, Cristiano blearily sees a pale hand weakly grabbing at his own.

The stubby fingers rub shaky, soothing circles against his palm, and he doesn't understand why Wayne doesn't hate him.

He can hear some of the villagers in the distance.

They are shouting about a _monster_.

Cristiano's blood runs cold, and for the first time in his life, he wants nothing more than to fade forever into the shallow, dark depths of the Amazon.

Eventually, he manages to carry Wayne back to the place he's staying at.

Wayne's parents are sleeping, blissfully unaware. Wayne's brothers are also sleeping, sprawled out on their beds.

Cristiano dries Wayne gingerly with a towel before placing him gently on the bed.

The rain doesn't stop.

Cristiano runs.

\----------

A night later, Cristiano stumbles upon the dead body of Hugo.

It looks like he wasn't able to make it to the river in time.

Hugo looks unnatural in his real form, on his side, flippers frozen in place, lying stiffly in a pool of red wine and his even redder blood.

The light from the bright full moon makes Hugo's wet corpse look even more colorless compared to the red blanketing him.

Ice-cold realization suddenly dawns on Cristiano when he grasps that Hugo was the monster the villagers were searching for the night before, not him.

He feels sick with relief and self-disgust and most of all, bitter resentment at everything he came to love about the once breathtakingly wonderful human world.

They killed Hugo.

They killed his brother.

He waits for the anger to come, but there is only dizzying despair as Cátia’s words come back to haunt him.

_“If given the chance, they would kill us upon sight. This is why you can never be discovered."_

The people who knew Hugo killed him as soon as he was careless

All it took was a moment.

Just one moment to be far too drunk on his unrelenting, festering heartache and his empty worldly desires, and Hugo was dead.

It isn’t fair.

Mechanically, Cristiano returns his brother's limp body into the Amazon so the humans cannot harm him more than they have done so already.

He automatically looks for his mother and sisters, but they're already long gone.

Now, Cristiano is all alone.

\----------

The end.


End file.
